Soon, I hear him. I smell him.

  “You ashamed of me, Lucas Fuller? Is that what all of this is about?” I hold out my open palms, the harsh realization that I’ve been pushing aside for two years finally boiling to the surface.

  He lifts his chin and his eyes soften with the slight tilt of his head.

  “It’s nothing like that, June.” He shakes his head as if I’m supposed to understand, but I don’t.

  “What’s it like then, Lucas? Because here’s what it’s like to me. We’re best friends, then we’re not. We live a hundred feet apart, and for two years, I see you only in passing, through open shutters and truck windows. I come back to school, and we’re enemies. I resent you, but only because you resent me, and I have no idea why. None of it—no clue. But then there are these few tiny moments when I see you. When I really see you. My Lucas shows up to take care of me, and he talks and he shares for one night. We kiss, then just . . . like . . . that.” I snap my fingers and his eyes flit to my hand. I hold my turned-up palm, thumb against fingers, in front of my eyes.

  “You can’t tell anyone.” I throw his words back at him, the ones he said after the breathtaking night that left my lips raw and my heart even rawer.

  His lips shut tight and he draws in a long breath through his nose, slowly shaking his head. I think it means he understands me, but at this point, who knows? Maybe it means he’s about to tap out and ditch me here. Wouldn’t be the first time in the last month he made me walk home in the dark. Though this is a hell of a lot farther than a block.

  “You’re right.” His scratchy voice breaks through the quiet.

  I blink.

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that please?” I say into my broken speaker. He glances up from the ground and wears a brief crooked smile. His gaze holds on, and after a beat, his head falls to the side.

  “You . . . are right,” he says again.

  I’m skeptical, so I turn my head and glance at him sideways.

  “So, is that a yes? To the—”

  “It’s a yes to the date. And a yes that it won’t be in a cave. I will take you somewhere that has actual living, breathing humans nearby. There might be food, and there will probably be a movie because this is Indiana and our options are slim.”

  I let out a short laugh.

  “Come here,” he says, finger calling me to my feet. He drops both hands in his pockets and cocks his head to the side.

  He can make me so damn mad, and then he looks at me like that. My stubborn side stays put because I hate that all it takes is a look.

  “Please,” he adds, and his sweetness—his attention—pushes me over the edge. I stand and brush off the back of my jeans, then stuff my hands in my pockets, swishing side-to-side while I scoot my feet closer to his. He takes the final few steps toward me and gently grabs my wrists, pulling my hands from their hiding spots. His fingers find the spaces between mine until we’re holding hands palm-to-palm like a mirror image of each other.

  His bottom lip is heavy with unsaid words, and his eyes dip below my gaze as he struggles to speak.

  “I don’t want—” He stops short, knitting his brows. Eventually his eyes close. “I don’t want my family to fuck it up. I want to keep this ours for a little while.”

  His eyes reopen on mine and there is a hardness to them, a brewing anger that I want to ask about but somehow know that now is not the time. His father holds him to his own set of expectations yet doesn’t live up to them himself.

  I step close, bring our elbows together until we stand like extras doing some ballroom dance in a period drama. I lift myself up on my toes so I’m closer to his face, staring hard into his eyes.

  The crickets from the surrounding trees are singing, and if I were rich—I mean really rich—I would buy this lot of land and build a home for me and Lucas right here. It’s a fantasy kind of future, but I haven’t indulged in fantasies in a very long time. What’s the harm in giving in to one right now?

  “What’s the favor?” A faint smile paints my lips. We’re standing so close that Lucas can only focus on one of my eyes at a time. I shift my gaze in harmony with his until the curves in our mouths match exactly.

  “I’m going to interview for MIT. And Coach and my dad . . . they can’t know.” Uneasiness pulls the corners of his eyes down, and his breathing stills.

  “They won’t,” I assure him, knowing that I can’t—and shouldn’t—make that promise. But more than that, I can’t let him not try for this. It’s what’s in his heart. He wouldn’t have told me about it if it didn’t weigh on him so heavily.

  “I have a plan. You’ll need to take my truck.”

  I grin and he shakes my hands in his, laughing lightly with his head tilted back.

  “I’m gonna want it back in one piece,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No promises.”

  He smiles with puckered lips and looks down at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Do you need help getting ready for the interview? Is it at school? Or do you go to an office?” I rattle out a few more questions, but stop, letting my voice trail off with breathy whispered words when I realize he’s more than just amused by me.

  “What?” My cheeks are burning and I’m so grateful that it’s dark outside.

  Lucas pulls my hands up around his neck, then delicately traces his fingertips down my arms to my waist until we stand like we’re dancing without music. I fall back down on my heels and he removes the last few inches between us so he can tower over me. My eyes flit up to his hair, mussy from his run but now dry. I push the locks dipping over his right eye out of the way, the soft curl that the strands form tempting my fingers to stick around and play.

  “June?”

  It’s hard to look him in the eyes right now. He’s looking at me with want, which is something I never fully prepared for. I look up briefly but dip my gaze when the pounding in my chest feels unbearable.

  I have zero control over my mouth right now. My lips are vibrating, and if he forces me to use words, they will be a scrambled, blubbering mess. Lucas eases my nerves with a soft stroke of his thumb across my bottom lip. Then a tender touch from the back of his fingers along the line of my jaw and my cheek. He lifts my chin until it’s hard to not let my gaze follow, meeting his. Wordlessly, he asks for permission, eyes falling to my mouth briefly, then returning to my stare.

  I melt quickly, wanting badly to relive the kiss we had in my bedroom. I’m still so full of questions, though. I feel this pull that comes from somewhere else entirely, and I think it’s my past self. I owe it to the girl I was a year ago—two years ago—to get answers before I give in to the lure of kissing Lucas Fuller. I spent too many nights wondering what I did to cause my best friend to abandon our relationship. He was too cruel for it to be meaningless hormones, and too committed for it to be high school politics or a dare. My feelings war inside my head until it becomes impossible to hide the trepidation that drags down every last bit of happiness finally blooming on my face. My body stiffens in warning and Lucas steps back just enough to study me, and the reciprocal weight of doom that tugs at his light gives us enough space for me to once again ask the hardest question of my life. This time, I can’t give in without getting an answer.

  “What happened?” I’m shaking where I stand, terrified of the answer.

  Lucas shakes his head, and I think he’s begging me not to ask. The mystery is too much, though. I need to know. I need it for there to ever be an us again.

  “Why did you pull away? Lucas . . . I need to know.”

  His hands fidget at my sides, his fingers squeezing at my hips with light pressure, as if he’s afraid I might run.

  “Please don’t make me tell you, June. Don’t make me say it.”

  A wave of nausea makes me dizzy, and a light sweat covers my neck. He has to know I’m too far in to go back now. I can’t kiss him with this cloud threatening us. I could never accept it as real; it would always be a distraction, his way of once again getting out of the hard truth. He is my weakness, but he used to be my strength. I need to know where that part of him went and why.

  He shakes his head harder, like a man trying to banish a bad dream, troublesome thoughts or voices in his head. Through it all, his hands stay on my hips, threatening to slip away but never quite fully letting go.

  “June,” he pleads, squeezing his eyes shut. He finally breaks his touch on me and grips at his hair, and I am truly scared.

  I wait through his labored, heavy breaths and force myself to maintain my hold on his red, tortured eyes. When the fight is finally choked from his body, his hands go limp at his sides. He offers one last breath, one last chance to touch my hand to his mouth and stop the onslaught of words that will change everything.

  I don’t.

  “This isn’t my father’s first affair.”

  We’re both breathless. I ignore all other sounds; no more crickets or faraway hum of traffic. The darkness has eaten any light that’s left, and I hold on as Lucas drags me down a rabbit hole that will change me forever.

  “My dad was seeing your mom.”

  Those were the nights I made my own dinner.

  “My mom caught them together.”

  That’s when my dad said she was a hypocrite.

  “He begged my mom not to leave.”

  My dad took advantage of an easy out.

  “My mom wanted him to make you and your mom move, but she settled for us never talking to you again.”

  Us. Lucas. Me.

  “She said she would tell everyone how your mom and my dad met.”

  My mouth waters with anger and all I can muster is a strong shake to my head.

  “He hired her, June. She needed money to get away from your dad and still be able to afford . . . things. And my father paid. He paid over and over. And he said he wasn’t the only one.”

  Over and over.

  I am numb.

  “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to ever know. I didn’t . . .”

  My mom slept with Lucas’s dad so I could fucking go to college. Those are the things she wanted to afford. Me. She wanted to be able to afford me.

  Lucas didn’t want me to know.

  And now I do.

  And nothing.

  Is.

  The same.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We haven’t seen the meteors yet,” I say, lying back on the roof of Lucas’s truck. He’s still standing on the ground next to the driver’s side door.

  About an hour ago, Lucas asked if I wanted him to take me home. That’s when I climbed up here. I’m not even sure what home is anymore. I have too many questions, and every single one I ask doesn’t seem to have an answer.

  None of this makes sense.

  Mrs. Fuller caught my mom and her husband together late one night at my mother’s photo studio. She hired a private investigator who traced the money, about ten thousand dollars, and who followed my mom for two weeks, documenting a dozen late-night meet-ups with her husband at the photo studio as well as twice at his office downtown. It was all suspicion until she read the six months of text messages between them. Six months is how long my parents were in therapy. When she confronted her husband, phone records in hand, he caved. I keep asking Lucas for details, but he says he doesn’t really know. It’s more likely he doesn’t want to tell me.

  What did the messages say?

  Did she tell him she loved him?

  Did anyone say they were sorry?

  “The clouds are rolling in,” Lucas says. I think he’s said it twice. I’m only half here; the other half is still mining theories and picking apart scant information while feeling incredibly betrayed.

  “Sit with me?” I roll my head to the side and stare at him sideways. He wants to take it back. How do I tell him I don’t believe it? Am I being naïve?

  Lucas exhales, his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie, which is now pulled up over his head, weighing down his wild hair in the breeze. It’s getting colder out, and he’s still wearing shorts.

  “You can grab my jacket from the floor of your truck. Use it to cover up?” I offer.

  His mouth ticks up in a slight smile before he glances down and nods to himself.

  “Okay, June,” he says, giving in to my request.

  He opens the passenger side to grab my jacket, also flipping off the headlights to save the battery. A second later, music plays from the radio. I flatten the side of my head so my ear is pressed against the roof. The song is familiar, but I can’t quite place it. When the truck rocks from the weight of Lucas hoisting himself up on the roof, I turn the other way.

  “Here,” he says, handing me my jacket as he slides his legs up to sit beside me. I push the jacket back to him.

  “You’re in shorts. I thought you could use it to cover up,” I say.

  He shakes his head with a soft laugh.

  “I don’t get cold.” His eyes seem so damn sorry.

  “That’s not true,” I say, wincing at my words. That was unfair.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I add.

  His head falls to the side.

  “Yes, you did,” he says, his voice breathy and full of regret.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” His eyes move down my body to where my hands are balled up in the bottom of my shirt to stay warm. He unzips my jacket and spreads it over my torso.

  “Your mom is probably worried about you,” he says out of the side of his mouth. He leans back, palms against the roof of the truck while his long legs drape down the windshield. My legs are falling asleep from being bent in front of me, but I don’t want to stop looking at the stars. I haven’t seen a single meteor yet. I want to. I want something to make a wish on.

  Without asking, I lift myself on my arms enough to shift my body to the side, lying my head in Lucas’s lap. I roll so I’m looking up again, and his eyes are waiting for me.

  “I’m probably not very soft,” he says through a breathy laugh.

  “You’re softer than you think,” I say, one eye squinting a little. Lucas’s body shakes with his amusement.

  “Okay then,” he says, tilting his chin to the sky. The moment he looks up, a flicker of light streaks across the sky, ducking behind one of the thin clouds and reflecting little flickers of light as the meteor burns up.

  “Oh, my God!” My grin stretches into my tight cheeks. Joy is such a foreign feeling.

  “Wow,” Lucas says, his eyes still trained on the space above where a piece of star just died. I should probably close my eyes to make a wish, but I’ve shut my eyes enough lately. I want to keep them wide open. I want to take the things I want.

  I pull my hands free from the cover of my jacket, slide my left palm up Lucas’s chest, and lift myself just as his chin drops to look down. My hand travels up his neck and jaw, ducking underneath the cover of his hoodie into the cool thickness of his hair. Without giving myself a chance to think twice, I press my lips to his.

  His body hesitates in reaction, a flinch that nips at my lips. There’s a sudden stiffness in his chest as it sucks in a quick breath and his muscles become defensive on reflex. I get it. After what he told me—with confusion taking over my head and the mess that is us—kissing is probably not the way to work through any of it. But kissing Lucas Fuller is the only thing that makes sense right now. I let my lips dance along his like a ghost, light tickles of skin on skin until he breaks and brings his hands up to cradle my body and head. I push his hood from his head as both my hands dive into his hair, his mouth now working mine with urgency. His kiss feels desperate, as if he wants to get as much as he can before this all disappears. The sensation spurs me to do the same.

  My face cradled in his hands, I slide my palms forward to do the same to him, shifting my body until I’m on my knees. Lucas leans back a little and I slide my right leg over his lap so I’m straddling him. The sensation of my body sitting on the hardness of his reaction causes his breath to hitch against my mouth. His hands break free of my face, falling back to catch his weight on the roof of the truck.

  I sit up but leave my hands on him, raking my fingers down the front of his hoodie like claws. His hooded eyes stare at me and his lips are pink from where my teeth held on just a breath ago. He’s panting, trying to be good, but his eyes betray his wants as they dip and lower, guiding his thoughts to my mouth, my neck, my breasts. I roll my hips against him and he swallows, biting his fat bottom lip and letting go with a “Fuuuck.”

  I’m out of my element, guided only by what my body feels and wants. I’ve kissed boys, made out in dark corners or, when teachers weren’t looking, behind the trees surrounding the basketball court at my tiny Montessori school. I don’t want to chastely kiss Lucas like a child right now. I want to touch him, taste him, leave my mark on him so anyone who questions us knows we had this—a moment for us.

  For me.

  My hands wander to the bottom of his hoodie and I lift it until he helps me remove it completely, tossing it over his shoulder and into the back of the truck. He’s so very much not the boy I first met when my fingers roam along his bare skin to discover hard muscles that curve and dip. I flatten my palms against his sides and trace the proof that despite what he wants, he is disciplined in the gym and on the field. I paint my fingertips back down toward the light dusting of golden hairs that begin at his belly button and disappear under the band of his cut-off sweats.

  I tug at the knotted string, easily sliding it free, but before I can touch inside, Lucas’s hands cover mine. He pulls them to his mouth, tethering them together and grazing his teeth against the inside of my left wrist with a gentle bite. He lifts my arms high then glides his hands down the length of my arms over the hard peaks of my breasts to the bottom of my work shirt, quickly rolling it up in his palms and raising it up my midriff and chest. I tilt my head up as he pulls it over my face, then take over and toss it into the truck bed where his sweatshirt now lies.